


Fangcuffs

by HopeCoppice



Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Addiction, Dark, Gen, Imprisonment, Psychological Torture, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Count knows exactly how to make Bertrand pay for his betrayal - and reinforce the power of the Chosen One. Vlad's not so keen. WARNING: Very dark. Spoilers for all of Series 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very dark fic that just kept writing itself. It is not a thing to read if you are searching for fluff. You have been warned.

Bertrand stared with undisguised longing at the shroud in the corner of the room; his shroud. What he wouldn’t give to be wrapped in it right now. Instead, he sat bolt upright on the uncomfortable wrought-iron chair that had been dragged in from somewhere in the grounds. Renfield must have done that; it was daylight, although not for much longer. Bertrand had been sitting here all day.

“Why did you do it?” He almost snarled at the voice from the darkness, but it was Vlad, so he couldn’t.   
“I wasn’t the only one. I notice Ingrid’s not fangcuffed down here. Why is she different?” The silhouette of Vlad was briefly visible as he passed in front of a candle, glancing over his shoulder at his captive.   
“Because I thought I could trust you.” He turned away, leaving Bertrand chained up in the dark.

\---

“I don’t like it, Dad. It’s not fair.” The Count scoffed.   
“Well, you have to show your power somehow. Besides, you don’t turn 18 for another month, and until then you do as I say.” Vlad scowled.   
“I should never have signed that contract.” Ingrid raised an eyebrow.   
“Really? After what happened with Mum?” Vlad sighed.   
“It seemed fair. I can’t overrule him and he can’t overrule me, effective until my eighteenth.” The Count scowled at his daughter.   
“It’s why _you’re_ still living here.”

The Chosen One turned to leave, but his father’s words reached him before he could get to the door.   
“Oh, and Vladdy? Not a word of our contract to Bertrand. I’m sure he’d love to help you wriggle out of it, but he’s not to know.” Vlad cursed. Sometimes he wished he could just have _normal_ parents.

\---

As the evening slipped towards midnight, Bertrand realised he could hear footsteps approaching. He hauled himself upright in the chair and attempted to look indifferent to his fate. The door clicked, and then Vlad was standing in front of him, unlocking one of the cuffs and forcing Bertrand’s hands in front of him, now free of the chair, before he snapped it shut again and pulled his former tutor to his feet.  
“Where are you taking me?” Vlad dragged him towards the door by the chain connecting the cuffs.   
“Boy’s toilets, Art corridor.” They were miles away, but Bertrand wasn’t about to complain about that. He’d been chained for less than 24 hours and already the change of scene was a welcome relief. Five minutes in a grimy, fluorescent-lit room had just become the highlight of his day, he thought bitterly.

\---

Vlad couldn’t help but feel faintly ridiculous as he led the older vampire back to the training room. Up until now, he had simply felt cruel, but something about escorting him to the school toilets jarred with the situation somehow. He had run over his contract with his father, desperately seeking a loophole, a hundred times since he had come home from school and found Bertrand cuffed to a chair, once his anger at the whole situation had died down.  
He felt bad for what he’d said to Bertrand – kicking him when he was down didn’t quite cover it – but he _had_ trusted him, and been betrayed. Still, he was sure they could have moved on from it, if only he had spoken to him before school. He could have accepted Bertrand’s inevitable apology, and his father couldn’t have overruled that. Now, because of him, the other vampire looked set to be trapped in the training room until the Count got bored.  
He locked the cuffs back around the chair and left before he could let his emotions get the better of him. He was just glad he’d helped himself to his tutor’s books before his father could confiscate them. There had to be a way out in one of them.

\---

The prisoner glanced up as the door opened, fangs bared. Whoever was framed in the dim light from the doorway raised their hands in a gesture of peace and he realised that it was his former student. Another visitor. He was popular tonight. Ingrid had been in earlier, bearing gifts.

Vlad reached to undo the cuffs, ready to repeat the routine of the night before, when his hands brushed leather and stilled. He traced the line up to where it met another band of the same material.   
“Is that... a collar?” Bertrand hissed quietly as Vlad pushed the open top of his shirt aside for a closer look.   
“Your sister’s idea.” His captor had only just arrived, but he was gone just as quickly as he had appeared.

\---

The Chosen One appeared in the doorway just in time to see Renfield opening a bottle of blood for the family. He fixed his sister with his most ferocious glare.   
“Ingrid.  He’s not a _pet_.” She laughed.   
“What’s wrong? I thought you’d like it. I saw you yesterday, you were practically holding hands. Now you can take him for walks without having to do that.” Vlad shot his father an appealing look, but the Count waved a hand dismissively.   
“For once, she may have a point. The leash stays.”

He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway, voice dripping with power.   
“From now on, nobody is to go into the training room but me.”

\---

He hadn’t been expecting Vlad to return that night, so he was startled to feel the cuffs being unsnapped and resnapped. As the boy led him towards the door, ignoring the lead Ingrid had bestowed on him, he wondered how long this state of affairs was going to continue. He didn’t know what was going to happen once the Draculas tired of keeping him prisoner, but it couldn’t go on forever. Could it?

\---

Vlad had been surprised to find his tutor slumped in the chair when he reached the training room. It seemed unnatural, somehow, a far cry from his usual posture. He refused to touch the dog lead trailing behind Bertrand, who was now walking with his head held high, as if nothing had happened. He didn’t know if his former tutor had spotted the faces peering around doors at their small procession, but _he_ didn’t miss the way his family had hidden themselves in a classroom and were sniggering. He should have taken him to the nearest toilets to the Dracula quarters really, but he’d thought the older vampire might appreciate the chance to stretch his legs.  
He reluctantly snapped the cuffs back around the chair and stood for a moment, wondering if he should say something. Bertrand stared defiantly into the distance, and the Chosen One decided that it was better to leave him alone for now.

\---

The third night of Bertrand’s captivity, he tried to escape. He had hoped that this would be a fleeting punishment, a show of power on Vlad’s part, and that it would be over soon if he only endured it patiently. Now, however, he was getting desperate. He threw his weight against the chair again and again, but it wouldn’t move and the cuffs wouldn’t break. He thought that if he could just throw his weight forwards far enough, he could overbalance the chair, perhaps enough to lift it or at least use it as a shield if tonight was the night they decided to stake him. Perhaps he could reach his belongings in the corner of the room before they found him.  He gathered up all his energy and threw himself forward, ignoring the pain as the cuffs bit into his wrists.

\---

Vlad found Bertrand a few hours before dawn, kneeling on the floor under the weight of the wrought-iron chair, the lead tangled around the top of the chair forcing his head back and pulling the collar up against his throat. He hastened to help, untangling the lead and pushing the chair back onto its legs.   
“What are you doing? You could have decapitated yourself!” Bertrand simply closed his eyes. It seemed to Vlad as if he didn’t even care. He couldn’t deal with that. He left.

\---

Bertrand didn’t realise he was shivering until he woke at midday to hear the cuffs behind his back jangling. He hauled himself upright, still shaking violently, and stared into the darkness of the room. The candles were out; they must have burnt down too far to continue lighting his prison. How strange to think that he had once called it home. He thought he could hear voices in the room around him, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying over the jangling of the cuffs. If the Draculas had come to laugh at him, he wished they’d leave and come back when he wasn’t quivering like a leaf in the breeze.

\---

Vlad didn’t want to face Bertrand after school that night. He’d been taken aside in class and interrogated about his drawn appearance and distracted behaviour – twice – and he couldn’t help but wonder what Miss McCauley would say if she knew what was going on in her school. He couldn’t tell anyone, though; his father had thought of that. There was no way of getting Bertrand out of the situation he was in, and Vlad didn’t know how much longer either of them could cope with things as they were.

He briefly considered revoking his previous order and sending Renfield to deal with him instead, but something stopped him from going through with it. If he was struggling, it could be nothing to Bertrand’s suffering. He had to be strong, show his power just as his father wanted, and hope that the Count got bored soon. That didn’t mean he had to look at his prisoner, though, and he went through the whole routine of walking him to the toilets and back without really taking in Bertrand’s appearance. He was busy thinking over the truce, and how to get out of his father’s contract. He locked his former tutor away again and headed back to his room to consult the books.

\---

The voices grew louder over the next 24 hours, so that now Bertrand could hear them even over the rattling of the chain keeping him in his place. _You shouldn’t have betrayed us_ , they said, _staking’s too good for you._ He closed his eyes and waited for them to go away. _You think the headache is bad? You’re worried about the shivers? By the time your punishment is over, you’ll be begging for the stake._ He tried to tune them out, but another voice joined the clamour. _I thought I could trust you,_ it said, _I thought I could trust you._ It sounded exactly like Vlad.

\---

When the Chosen One made his way down to the training room later that night, he noticed his tutor shaking. It wasn’t particularly cold out, but he supposed the temperature down here might get quite low in the middle of the night. He wasn’t sure why the cold would suddenly bother Bertrand; it was more likely that his muscles were protesting the sudden lack of use they were experiencing. He led him to the art corridor as usual, but had to throw out a hand to catch the older vampire as he tripped on the threshold of the toilets. His foot had caught in the loop of the lead trailing from his neck, and with Vlad in possession of his hands there was nothing he could do to to save himself.

The teenager waited until Bertrand had regained his balance, then reluctantly picked up the leather strip and wound it loosely around his captive’s arm until it was a safe, short length. When he left him in the chair again, he returned with a blanket which he draped over his former tutor. The older man ignored him, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Dad, I think there’s something wrong with Bertrand. Don’t you think he’s been down there long enough?” The Count scoffed.   
“This is how you’re going to set an example, strike fear into the hearts of your enemies? By keeping your prisoners until they seem a bit bored?” Vlad shook his head.   
“Not bored, sick. I think something’s wrong.” Ingrid rolled her eyes.   
“Oldest trick in the book. You’re not going to fall for that, are you, Daddy?” Their father glared at her.   
“Of course not. No, Vladdy, we’ll keep to the plan.” It didn’t occur to him until he was back in his coffin that he should have asked his father what the plan _was_.

\---

Bertrand’s headache was worse, and the voice that sounded like Vlad had started to drown out all the others. _I thought I could trust you,_ it said, _but you turned on me. Everyone turns on me. Why did you do it?_ The voice wouldn’t go away, it just wouldn’t leave, and Bertrand didn’t dare open his eyes to check that it wasn’t really Vlad standing in front of him.   
“I had to, I had to. I wouldn’t have hurt you-” _You would have hurt Erin. You would have hurt my family._   
“No, I... I just wanted the Book... it was mine, I kept it for so long...” _The Book was mine. You were supposed to be mine, you were supposed to be loyal to me. I thought I could trust you!_ Bertrand retched violently, ash pouring on to the stone floor between his feet.

He tried to straighten up as the wave of nausea receded, only to double over again as the other voices took over. _You deserve this, all of this. Look at you, you pathetic excuse for a vampire. You, guard the Chosen One? It took no time for you to turn on him. They should have called someone stronger._ The ash kept coming, he was choking on it, wrists straining at the chains as he shuddered.

\---

The first thing Vlad saw as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room – he would have to replace the candles – was a pile of ash in the middle of the floor. No, it couldn’t be – he couldn’t have found a way to – no, he was relieved to realise that Bertrand was still slumped in the chair, hunched over and shivering, barely conscious.   
“I couldn’t bear it...” His former valet’s voice was hoarse and broken, and he didn’t seem to be aware of Vlad’s presence. “No...” He definitely wasn’t speaking to his captor. Vlad rushed upstairs to find candles, suddenly conscious of the need to check symptoms and wishing that he knew more about vampire ailments.  
\---

Bertrand heaved again as the voices continued to taunt him. _Couldn’t bear fulfilling your destiny? Or couldn’t bear fulfilling his?  
_ “No...” _Well, now you’re just not making any sense. Your brain was the only bit of you worth anything and now you’ve even gone and broken that._ The voice that sounded like Vlad cut in again. _I thought I could trust you – Bertrand? What’s wrong? – and you betrayed me. Why does everyone betray me? Why did you? At least Ingrid has a claim to – What do you need? You have to help me, I don’t know what to do – You were supposed to help me, not turn on me – You’re scaring me, please, I can’t – What will you keep going for now, now you’ve lost the Chosen One?_   “Blood...” He managed to splutter the single word before the ash rose again and his vision began to dim. _You won’t be here much longer, anyway. Dust doesn’t need a purpose._  


\---

Vlad almost dropped the fresh candle when its light fell on his former tutor’s face. His skin looked clammy, he was shaking like a leaf and then there was the retching.   
“Bertrand? What’s wrong?” The prisoner’s eyes squeezed tighter shut, and Vlad couldn’t tell if it was a reaction to the light or his own tortured thoughts. “What do you need? You have to help me, I don’t know what to do-” The older vampire’s eyes fluttered open, but he didn’t seem to be seeing much. He had at least stopped throwing up, but Vlad thought that on the whole this was even more unsettling. “You’re scaring me, please, I can’t fix this without help...” He was just beginning to think that he would have to fetch his father and Renfield, when his tutor spat out an answer with a mouthful of ash.   
“Blood...”

Of course, when had he last had a drink? He’d been down here for days, and Vlad had never even considered that the restraints had rendered the disgraced tutor unable to feed himself. He was about to make a break for the Blood Cellar when he realised that Bertrand must have had his own supply somewhere closer; the Count was notoriously possessive of his personal collection of vintages. The only place he could have kept his own stash would be in this room. He began frantically lighting more candles, ignoring the pitiful way Bertrand cringed from the light, until he finally spotted the corner of a shroud protruding from an alcove at the side of a room. Sure enough, next to it was a single bottle of Detective Sergeant A- (2007), half full. Vlad grabbed it and raced back towards the chair.

Bertrand was still throwing up ash, and no amount of encouragement could entice him to lift his head by himself. His instincts were still intact, though, causing him to thrash wildly as Vlad’s hand moved towards his chin to lift his head. The teenager briefly considered using the lead to avoid being bitten, but instead he gritted his teeth and persevered in his original course of action. The moment the flow of ash stopped, the older vampire clearly bracing himself for another wave, Vlad forced his chin up and tipped a little blood into his former tutor’s mouth. It spilt down his front, running down Vlad’s arm as he begged his prisoner to swallow and hoped he was doing the right thing.

Vlad watched him take that first vital gulp of blood, still shuddering violently, and raised the bottle again. This time Bertrand’s mouth sought out the blood of its own accord – honestly, Vlad wasn’t even sure the training room’s other occupant was conscious, but he was drinking – and Vlad had to pull it away to make sure he didn’t take too much and make himself even sicker.  
\---

A few mouthfuls of blood were enough to quell Bertrand’s urge to vomit, and a few more fought the voices off to a tolerable distance, but the headache and the shaking persisted. Bertrand opened his eyes to find a concerned young vampire blinking anxiously at him, too close for comfort. The prisoner hissed half-heartedly and slumped backwards in the chair, Vlad’s voice – his real voice, he hoped – reaching his ears as if from underwater as he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.   
“Bertrand? Are you feeling better?”  
\---

Vlad sighed. The older vampire had passed out, but he looked a little healthier – by undead standards - than he had just five minutes earlier. He corked the bottle of blood, cursing his own oversight as he realised there was barely any left. He would have to find more from somewhere, but now that the truce had been officially passed through Council, supplies were scarce. Only this morning he’d received a gift hamper from Soylent, one of the main suppliers of soy blood, thanking him for taking out their competitors. He suspected that they might have been being sarcastic, but the soy blood hadn’t been tampered with so he was going to keep-  
  
What was he thinking? Bertrand had almost died – really died, the kind of death you don’t come back from – and he was pondering gift hampers? He’d been a fool not to realise that his former tutor could no longer source his own blood supply – and with everyone else in the school banned from the training room, who had he thought would have to shoulder the burden? As if he didn’t have enough to deal with, with the truce and school and wondering why Erin had been so keen to get back to the Slayer’s Guild, albeit as some kind of liaison for the vampires’ interests... No, now he had to deal with keeping a prisoner, in completely inhumane conditions, and that prisoner was totally helpless and relying on him for everything. He missed the days when _he_ had relied on _Bertrand_ , he realised, as he trudged wearily upstairs. Had it really been less than a week since they had been on the same side? The Book had been just a book, and Bertrand had been his most reliable ally. How things had changed.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow as he passed her on his way to get changed out of his bloodstained clothes. It was almost time for school again, now; he’d spent hours convincing himself that Bertrand wasn’t going to turn to dust the moment he turned away.   
“Well, well. You snapped and killed him, then? I thought it would take you longer.” He growled and she disappeared back into her room with an infuriating smirk.  
\---

Bertrand woke to find the room bathed in soft candlelight again. At some point while he was asleep, the blanket had slipped off of him, landing over what was no doubt a horrifically large pile of ash. At least that meant he didn’t have to look at it. He could finally hear his own thoughts, the voices seemed to have gone, and the shivering had subsided a little. This was good. Of course, he was still wearing a collar and chained up, so good was relative. But he could still taste the blood on his teeth.  
  
He lifted his gaze from the floor and was startled to see a crumpled body slumped against the wall in front of him. Had he-? No, he’d been chained up, and besides, that wasn’t a breather’s lifeless corpse. It was Vlad, apparently sleeping. That was unexpected. Vague memories of the younger vampire’s attentions the night before were beginning to come back to him, but everything was confused. He wasn’t sure what had been real and what had happened in his head. Why would Vlad care if he starved?

\---  
Vlad opened his eyes to find Bertrand exactly where he’d left him. He appeared to be staring at the blanket on the floor, and his young gaoler took a moment, still lying against the wall where he’d slumped early this morning, to check the older vampire’s condition. He looked a little healthier, it was true, but everything in his posture suggested confusion and fear. Vlad supposed he could understand that.

He had changed into his school uniform with the best of intentions that morning, but he’d barely made it out of the Dracula quarters before Miss McCauley spotted him and told him to go home; apparently he looked as exhausted and traumatised as he felt. He didn’t remember making his way back to the training room, but he supposed it made sense that he would want to check on his patient.

“Feeling better?” He asked as he pushed himself to a sitting position, back against the wall. Bertrand looked up, apparently still a little disorientated.   
“Chained to a chair... but better, yes.” His voice was still a pitiful croak and although Vlad could tell that he was aiming for a casual, polite tone of voice, it came out bitter and savage. “Your doing?” The question surprised him; who else did Bertrand think had helped him? Didn’t he remember Vlad feeding him? He nodded uncertainly.

Bertrand seemed to slip away into his thoughts, and a few minutes passed in which Vlad began to feel like he should be somewhere else. He tried to distract himself by removing the blanket from the floor and sweeping up the ashes, but he couldn’t help stealing glances as the look on the chained vampire’s face slipped from relief to anger and back again before he seemed to reach a decision. It took another few moments before he actually spoke.   
“Thank you.” Vlad nodded again and made a break for the door. He had to give his father a piece of his mind, and he didn’t mind waking him up at 3pm to do it.  
\---

Bertrand hadn’t felt so lucid in days. The craving for blood hadn’t entirely left him, but then it had been a part of him for a long time now. He could see the bottle from his place on the chair, and when he felt the shivers beginning to worsen again he simply fixed his eyes on it and waited for Vlad to return. Depending on being fed was hardly dignified, but he could survive the humiliation as long as he wasn’t left to get back into the state he’d been in last night. He hated the loss of control that had come with his hunger; his body was the only thing he had _any_ power over since his imprisonment, and being robbed of that had scared him more than he liked to admit.

Everything would be fine now, though, now that Vlad had remembered that vampires needed blood. Well, not fine, exactly, but they would be better than they had been. He would have time to dwell on the fact that he was imprisoned and chained to a garden chair in a cellar underneath a school, but just now he wanted to enjoy the feeling of not being sick.  
\---

“What do you mean, I can’t go back down there? I have to, he needs feeding and he hasn’t left the room in two days now-” Ingrid smirked.   
“Oh, you’re going to miss out on walkies?” Both male vampires shot her looks of pure venom and she walked away, tossing a “Whatever,” over her shoulder.   
“No, Vladdy, you’re not going back down there tonight. After school tomorrow you can see to your pet. Don’t argue with me.”

He took the opportunity to go through all of the books he’d taken from the training room again, checking and double-checking that he hadn’t missed something crucial.  
\---

To say that Bertrand was hungry was an understatement. It had been two days since Vlad had found him choking on ash, and he had not yet returned. He could see the bottle of blood, yes, but he couldn’t reach it, and he was furious with the Chosen One for leaving him in this torturous position. He thrashed against the cuffs and pulled at the lead until it came unwrapped from where Vlad had left it loosely spooled around his upper arm. A horrible thought struck him. What if something had happened and the boy didn’t come because he couldn’t? What if someone had gone after him while Bertrand was unable to protect him?

 _That’s not it, Bertrand,_ said a familiar voice at the back of his mind, _it’s just that I don’t particularly care._ Oh, great. Now the figment of his imagination that sounded like his former student was back. _Actually, that’s not true either. I wanted you to suffer. That’s why I put temptation just out of reach, and it’s why I saved your miserable hide in the first place. It’s no fun crushing someone’s spirit when they don’t have any hope to begin with._ Bertrand closed his eyes and willed it to go away.

\---

It had been a long day at school, barred from visiting Bertrand, but nowhere near as long as the day after that had seemed. His father had changed his mind on a whim, but this time Vlad had made sure that wasn’t an option.   
“I _will_ see him tomorrow after school.” The Count could overrule himself as much as he liked, but he couldn’t overrule his son. Still, he was taking no chances. He didn’t even bother to go to his room and change his clothes, heading directly to the training room.  
  
He was halfway to the bottle of blood before he realised that there was a better way of feeding the older vampire, a far less humiliating way. He moved around behind him and watched the older vampire tense. His neck was raw from the way the collar had rubbed, Vlad could see, and his wrists looked similarly abused.   
“You’ve been trying to get loose.” He didn’t even realise he’d spoken out loud until his tutor responded.   
“I was hungry.” The teenager grimaced, feeling guilty, but released one of the cuffs all the same, bringing the tutor’s hands round in front of him and cuffing them again before uncorking the bottle.   
“There’s not much left, I spilt a bit...” Bertrand’s furious expression calmed a little as Vlad placed the bottle in his hands, allowing him to feed himself.  
  
Hesitantly, the younger vampire circled the elder, pausing at his side and very slowly reaching out for the collar, making his movements as obvious and deliberate as he could. Bertrand, still draining the bottle, watched from the corner of his eye, stiffening as the Chosen One’s fingers inched closer to his neck. Vlad would have liked nothing more than to remove the collar and set him free, but his father’s orders had been clear and binding. Instead he ran his thumb lightly over the raw skin of his tutor’s neck, observing his reaction.  
  
“How did this happen?” He answered his own question as he noticed the loop of the lead tangled in the chair again. He sighed, pondering the problem for a moment, before removing his school tie and carefully slipping it through the collar. Wrapping it around the leather took longer than he had thought; Bertrand had long since emptied the bottle and was watching him as he completed his task.   
“That should cushion it a bit. You should stop pulling at it, though.” Bertrand fixed his eyes on the floor, and Vlad sighed, looping the lead around his prisoner’s arm again and taking hold of the chain between the cuffs. Bertrand stood, aware of the routine, and they made their way to the Art corridor in silence.  
\---

He hated to admit it, but the tie helped. It wasn’t the softest thing in the world, but it was marginally better than the chafing leather of the collar. Bertrand splashed his face with water and stared into the mirror above the sinks. He couldn’t see himself, of course, but he could only imagine how terrible he looked. Why, he wondered, had Vlad taken so much trouble to make him a little more comfortable? If he was still angry with him for his treachery, why hadn’t he shown it? And if he wasn’t, why didn’t he talk to him, or let him go?

As Vlad snapped the cuffs back into place behind him, Bertrand still had a thousand questions, and he didn’t dare voice any of them.

\---  
The Chosen One winced as he unsnapped one of the cuffs again. Now that he wasn’t in a hurry, the wounds on his former tutor’s wrists looked even more gruesome and he was willing to bet they stung.   
“Don’t pull on your cuffs any more, either. Okay?” His tutor nodded as his hands were pinned back behind him again, shackling him to the chair. Vlad sighed for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, completely powerless to help his former friend. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He didn’t bother consulting the old books when he got back to his coffin room; there was nothing in there that could help them. Instead he collapsed into his coffin, closed the lid, and slept like the dead.  
\---

As evening fell, The Chosen One appeared again. Bertrand heard the door open, but didn’t move, choosing instead to listen as the door was locked and Vlad’s footsteps echoed their way towards him. The boy unsnapped a cuff as he passed, shifting Bertrand’s hands in front of him before reclipping them as usual, but then sat on the floor in front of him. Fangcuffs or no, this would be a vulnerable position for anyone else, but Bertrand supposed that Vlad’s power was such that if his prisoner tried to hurt him, he would be dust before he could get close. He remained where he was, sensing that he had been given a greater level of freedom for a reason. What was the young vampire expecting of him? A few moments passed in silence before Vlad spoke.

“You know we need to talk.” Bertrand opened his eyes, but said nothing. “Why did you do it?” _I thought I could trust you_ , whispered the voice in his head. He stared blankly at Vlad, trying to focus on the original question. “Bertrand. You stole the Book, you took Erin... I want to know why.”

\---  
Vlad had hoped that releasing Bertrand from the chair, if not from the cuffs – thanks to his father’s orders, he couldn’t remove them – would put him at his ease. It seemed, however, that the move had simply disorientated his tutor.   
“Bertrand.” He was staring blankly at him, as if his mind was somewhere else. The teenager wondered, for one brief second, if he would have been safer had he not undone the cuffs, but he shook the thought off. “You stole the Book, you took Erin... I want to know why.”

For a moment, Bertrand’s eyes focused. His eyebrows quirked slightly into a frown and Vlad thought, for one brief second, that he might be about to give him an honest answer. Then he opened his mouth and all such hopes were dashed.   
“What does it matter? Will telling you set me free?” The younger vampire shook his head slowly, and Bertrand sighed. They remained there in silence for a moment, before Vlad stood. “Come on. Art corridor.”

\---  
 _I want to know why you did it. I want to know who your allies were, and whether they’re a threat. And then, when I have that information, I can finally stake you, just like you deserve, and I won’t have to come down here and pretend to look after you._ Bertrand wished the voice would just be quiet, but Vlad was waiting for an answer. He met the boy’s eyes. Why was he really asking? Was there an ulterior motive? He wasn’t aware of speaking until the words were out, and Vlad was confirming one of his worst fears; he could not exchange information for freedom. He was never going to get out of here. He sighed, trying to release all the anger and pain and _fear_ that was beginning to cloud his mind with the one useless exhalation. He would say nothing today, he decided; if he was going to be staked he would suffer for a few more days while he got used to the idea. If he wasn’t, it would make no difference.

Vlad obviously understood that his decision had been made, because he simply led him to the Art corridor toilets and back, making sure not to pull on the cuffs, and then returned him to the chair in the training room. He stood for a moment, staring at Bertrand, who was trying not to be unnerved by the intense scrutiny he found himself under, before producing a bottle, opening it and handing it over. Bertrand took it in his cuffed hands and peered at it doubtfully before taking a tentative sip. His face distorted into a look of absolute disgust and horror as he spat it out onto the floor.  
\---  
Vlad had expected nothing different; he had known that his captive would not approve of his new dietary arrangements. Still, he grabbed the bottle before Bertrand could attempt to throw it at a wall, holding his captive’s hands in place as he spoke.   
“Dad doesn’t share his blood, and you can’t exactly get your own. This is soy.” From the look Bertrand was giving him, you’d think it was poison.

Vlad tried not to be hurt by the ingratitude of his former tutor – after all, it must be hard to be grateful for anything when you were being held prisoner – but he had brought the soy blood from his own supply and he doubted his father would be keen to find extra for a traitor. He already complained enough about Vlad’s refusal to drink human blood.

It took a few moments, but Bertrand seemed to accept the situation with a slump of his shoulders, and Vlad released his hands so he could take another tentative sip. Hunger won out over disgust and by the time he dropped the bottle to the floor, it was empty. Vlad went to pick it up, but Bertrand spoke hoarsely.   
“Leave it... please?” It was a bizarre request, but the fact that his prisoner had bothered to make it at all, let alone politely, suggested that it was somehow important to him.

He left the bottle at Bertrand’s feet, shackled his hands again around the chair, and made his way out of the room with a nod.  
\---  
Bertrand was trying to get accustomed to the taste of soy blood in his mouth and the smell of it on the air. It was the main reason he’d had Vlad leave the bottle, so the scent persisted. It was disgusting, but it was in his best interests to adapt to it. As he glared at the bottle, however, he realised that it must be from Vlad’s own stock of the only blood he would drink. If his captor intended to keep feeding him it, he would be sacrificing some of his own resources for the vampire who wouldn’t even accept responsibility for his own actions. _Of course not,_ the voice whispered scornfully in his mind, _I just ordered more. It’s not as if I can’t afford it, and it was obvious from the start that keeping you prisoner meant feeding you. I ordered this soy blood, and then I let you starve for days. I know about your problem. It’s all part of the punishment._

Bertrand hissed, but the voice just laughed. He fixed his eyes back on the bottle, determined to pretend that it was Vlad’s, that Vlad felt even the slightest hint of regret for the way he was treating Bertrand. When he thought about it, this didn’t seem like Vlad at all, at least not the boy he’d been before he faced the Blood Mirror. _I’m different now. Stronger. Better. And I have no further use for you._ Bertrand stared at the bottle and tried not to wonder.

\---  
Vlad spent the next day buried in his homework; he didn’t dare to put a foot wrong while Bertrand was in such a vulnerable position, and if his work disappointed his teachers it would get back to Miss McCauley and therefore his father. The Count had never given a damn about Vlad’s work before, but anything that vexed the headmistress was intolerable in his eyes. His Regent may be unable to enter the training room, but his son couldn’t possibly close every loophole that would give him the power to hurt their prisoner. It was safer for all of them if Vlad got his head down and made sure he didn’t anger his father.  
  
When, that evening, he slammed the last book shut, he grabbed two bottles of soy from the Soylent hamper and rushed down to the training room. He opened the door and froze in horror.  
\---

Bertrand had stared at that bottle for hours, feeling the hunger rise inside him, until he could no longer bear it. It wasn’t true hunger, he knew – the soy blood provided all the right nutrition for a vampire – but he craved real blood and it gnawed away at him, physically painful. The shivering had begun again, Vlad’s imaginary voice in his head wouldn’t be quiet, and he couldn’t take it any more.

He snapped, throwing himself against the cuffs, snapping at the air with his fangs, roaring and hissing. He kicked the empty soy blood bottle across the room and watched it explode against the wall. The fangcuffs bit into his wrists, but he was barely aware of the reason for the pain; it was simply one more discomfort to add to the growing list. He could feel the nausea rising up in him again and the only way he could fight it was to fight his restraints, fight the air, fight anything.

In the end, it came down to a battle between him and the voice in his head, a battle the voice had clearly been spoiling for for some time. _I’m glad you feel this way. It saves me the bother of torturing you myself, and honestly, you’re not worth the effort.  
_ “You can’t leave me here!” _Of course I can,_ Vlad’s voice had an audible smirk to it. _Or were you expecting me to check you into vampire rehab? Better still, why don’t I pop open a bottle of Duchess for you?_ Bertrand gritted his teeth, still pulling against the cuffs but desperately trying to cling to reality. “You’re... not... real.” Vlad’s laughter rang in his ears. _Oh, I’m real enough. You? I’ve had your name struck from every record. You don’t exist any more, Bertrand. You’re completely at my mercy, and nobody will miss you. Out of the two of us... I’m the real one now._

He wasn’t even aware of the door opening as he began to scream.   
“Why are you doing this? This isn’t you!” _Oh, but isn’t this who you wanted me to be, Bertrand? And then you betrayed me._

\---

Vlad stood in the doorway, unnoticed by his former tutor as the older vampire threw himself against his restraints over and over again, thrashing wildly. He was rooted to the spot, unable to move forward and unsure of what the best course of action would be if he did. His prisoner was shouting, now, tortured cries the likes of which Vlad had never heard from the usually dignified Bertrand.

“I wanted you to be strong, so you’d survive, and you are! You’re more powerful than I could have imagined, you even bested Sethius!” There was a pause and a furious gnashing of teeth as Bertrand continued to writhe. “I don’t care, I don’t care, just let me go! I’ll leave, you’ll never see me again, I’ll tell the world of your power! You can’t keep me here like this!” Another strangled, wordless cry, and a brief snarl. Vlad was about to force himself forwards, to do something, anything to put a stop to the way the fangcuffs were slicing into Bertrand’s skin, but the older vampire’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“You really want to know why I did it? I’ll tell you!”

\---  
 _I was strong already; you did nothing to help me. You’re worthless to me, Bertrand. Worthless._   
“I don’t care, I don’t care, just let me go! I’ll leave, you’ll never see me again, I’ll tell the world of your power! You can’t keep me here like this!” Bertrand threw himself against his bonds again and again, thrashing like a man possessed, barely acknowledging the pain coursing through his wrists. _So cooperative now, Bertrand, so awed by my might. So why did you turn on me in the first place?_   “You really want to know why I did it?” Bertrand spat, “I’ll tell you!”

The voice suddenly retreated, and it sounded further away when it next spoke, its tone unexpectedly soothing. _Calm down, Bertrand. Sit still, and talk._ He twisted his hands against the cuffs one more time, just to show the voice it wasn’t in charge of him, and then collapsed in the chair, talking to his knees.   
“I knew you were obsessed with breathers,” he mumbled, hissing as the pain of the cuffs finally registered, “but I didn’t realise just how dangerous your... fascination with them had become until you ignored my warnings about the slayers.” He paused, waiting for the voice to taunt him, but apparently even his own insanity wanted to hear this. “I had to stop them from wiping us out. I thought the Book would give me that power, since you didn’t want it.” There was a long silence.

_But why did you try to kill Erin?_

\---

“But why did you try to kill Erin?” He hadn’t meant for the question to slip out, but it did. It seemed, however, that Bertrand was done with answering questions for the night. He didn’t even seem aware of Vlad’s continued presence, despite his apparent compliance with Vlad’s soothing invitation to tell him why he’d done it, and the young vampire wrestled with his conscience for a few moments before leaving both bottles of soy just inside the doorway and letting himself out of the training room. Bertrand might be a little hungry, but Vlad had completely lost his appetite. He supposed that was the advantage of being the one holding the key.

He couldn’t stay in the room with Bertrand, not after that little outburst, and he could only hope that his prisoner wouldn’t continue to hurt himself in his attempts to escape, as he returned to his coffin room. Ingrid joined him not long afterwards, despite his closed door and withering glare.   
“Thought you might like the news from the Slayer’s Guild. A report turned up while you were downstairs.” He took the papers from her and stared straight through them for a moment, before looking up.   
“I assume you’ve read them?” She was entitled to, after all; she was his number two. She sighed.   
“Yes, Vlad, I have. Would you like me to tell you what they say?”

He listened in silence as she told him that the Guild were even now working on persuading a few chapters of their people to adhere to the truce; vampire-related deaths had decreased but there were no specific figures available; slayings were down by 80% on the same amount of time a month ago.   
“Eighty percent?” Vlad echoed, his voice flat. “They were slaying that many?” Ingrid rolled her eyes.   
“Yes, it was in all the papers. Anyway, this is the interesting bit.” She watched him carefully for a reaction as she imparted her next bit of news. “Erin’s been sent to Kent to liaise with the slayers there; they’re a little stake-happy and they don’t appreciate the truce much.” He reacted as she had expected, with a very slight, very controlled frown, but she wasn’t finished. “Jonno went with her.”

He sat for a moment longer, considering this.   
“Thanks, Ingrid. Could you go and let Dad know?” Their father was already aware of the contents of the report, but she left him anyway, seeing his request for what it really was; a barely-veiled order to leave him alone.  
\---  
Bertrand remained slumped in his chair for hours, until the voice became bored and started whispering to him again. _Did you think I’d forgotten you? Oh, just because I’m not feeding you, it doesn’t mean I’m not here. Had you noticed you’re shivering again? It’s pathetic. The candles are almost out; you’re not afraid of the dark, are you, Bertrand? Of course not. Just because last time you were chained here in the dark you almost crumbled to dust, that’s no reason to assume the same thing will happen again._ A candle sputtered and died. Bertrand twitched. _That’s the thing about candles; they drink. I bet you’d like a drink, wouldn’t you?_

He could smell that foul soy blood on the air; against all logic, it seemed to have grown stronger since he’d kicked the bottle at the wall. Still, he craved real blood, human blood. Soy might sate his hunger but he needed the real thing, he needed not to sink back into the state he’d been in just a few nights before. He had lost track of time; it could have been months since he’d been chained here, but he suspected that it had in fact been less time. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to be freed. He just wanted his blood, and for the voice to go away. _Don’t lie, Bertrand, you’d miss me._ He shook his head stubbornly, forcing his abused voice to make a croaking sound.   
“I’d miss _him_.”  
\---  
Vlad crept down to the training room the next day, stopping at the door to listen to the sounds within. He could hear feverish muttering, which he expected was a bad sign. Bertrand hadn’t gone _that_ long without blood, surely he shouldn’t be suffering again yet... although he supposed he might still be weak from his previous episode. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was dark again, and a sinister feeling of déjà vu settled on him as he silently located the fresh candles he’d left down here last time. He couldn’t help but overhear what his prisoner was saying as he crossed the room.

“...You’re not him, you’re not... he’d understand, he’d know I’m sorry. I handled things wrong... no, but that doesn’t make what I did right. I had the best intentions, but I shouldn’t have taken the breather. I thought I needed it all, the room smelt so strongly of blood... it had barely filled in two pages, I thought the whole book... no, no... no! Keep her away, keep... she can’t be here, you mustn’t bring her. I need blood... you can’t. You’re not him, you can’t bring her back. Good. He’d never forgive me. But I need... no! No. Making it worse. Stop making it worse.”

Vlad carried his freshly lit candle round to stand in front of his former tutor, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The older vampire jerked backwards, jet-black eyes staring at him in alarm, jolted from his mutterings.  Cursing his foolishness, Vlad hurried to retrieve the bottles of soy and placed them carefully on the floor, just out of reach of Bertrand’s legs, should he choose to lash out. He wasn’t proud of himself for tying the prisoner’s lead to the chair, but he did so anyway before unsnapping the fangcuffs and snapping them back on as usual. Bertrand seemed unstable and he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Uncorking a bottle of soy, he handed it to Bertrand before opening his own and sitting down against the wall, avoiding broken glass. He raised the bottle in a half-hearted toast and began to drain the bottle with almost as much enthusiasm as the older vampire. Of course, the fact that Bertrand was eagerly gulping soy blood was a worrying testament to his prisoner’s condition in itself, but Vlad hoped that the blood would help.

Bertrand was still shivering, Vlad noticed, as he lowered the empty bottle to the floor. He struggled to set it down, restrained by the lead, and ended up dropping it and watching it roll away. It seemed to bother him, so Vlad retrieved it, placing it upright at his prisoner’s feet. Looking up, he realised how vulnerable a position he had put himself in; he was kneeling before a vampire who looked more than half-crazed with bloodlust and a fervent desire to be free. Their eyes met for a moment, each looking as startled as the other, and Vlad couldn’t stop himself from wondering. _Is this what he wanted all along? The Chosen One, kneeling before hi-?_ Bertrand interrupted his thoughts.   
“No.” He really had to work on his telepathy.

\---  
 _Is this what he wanted all along? The Chosen One, kneeling before hi-?_ Bertrand wasn’t sure how he knew this was the real Vlad, thinking too loud as usual, and not the insidious voice in his brain trying to trick him – perhaps it was the shadow of doubt in his thought – but he answered before he was aware of it.   
“No.” There was nothing more to be said, really. He had never wanted power over Vlad; he had simply wanted the power of the Book to be wielded, to save the vampires, and he was the next best vampire to do that. At least, he’d thought so.

Vlad hid his surprise at his reply well – at least he was learning to control his facial expressions, Bertrand noted before remembering that it was no longer his job to assess the boy’s progress – and stood slowly.   
“If I walk you to the Art Corridor, are you going to stay calm and not start lashing out again?” Bertrand frowned; he’d managed to keep himself in check for the last few hours, and he didn’t remember Vlad visiting him the night before, when he’d been at his most violent. Still, he nodded and Vlad moved behind him to untie the lead from the chair.

 _Now’s your chance – you may be cuffed but I know you could still take me if I’m not expecting it. Knock me unconscious the moment you’re untied and run for the doo-  
_ “No! Stop.” Bertrand twisted round to look at the real Vlad, terrified that the boy’s voice in his head would win out against his better judgement. Vlad paused, hands on the knot, and gave him a searching look. Bertrand just hoped he’d make the sensible decision.

\---  
Vlad paused, hands on the knot he’d tied in Bertrand’s lead, and regarded him thoughtfully. Just a moment ago, his tutor had been nodding, docile, and now he had contorted himself into a position that couldn’t be comfortable and was staring desperately up at him, wide eyes now their natural blue. He looked like he was pleading with him not to let him out. Vlad didn’t think he’d ever seen Bertrand beg before, not even when he’d been threatened with the Chosen One’s full power.

Something had spooked him, something in the last couple of minutes, and now he was arguing against his only chance to stretch his legs and at least wash his face. Vlad had asked if he could stay calm, and the sudden change in his answer could only mean that he now believed he would lash out at his captor. He had probably realised how tempting the prospect of escape was; the only thing Vlad couldn’t fathom was why Bertrand would _warn_ him. The older vampire seemed genuinely scared of what he could do; the Chosen One was less worried, knowing that as long as he stayed on his guard he could deal with anything Bertrand threw at him. He hesitated for a moment longer, then slipped the lead free of the chair and wrapped it carefully around his tutor’s arm.

Bertrand’s panicked expression was mildly comical as he realised Vlad was still planning to take him to the toilets, regardless of whatever risk his former tutor thought he was taking by doing so, but he seemed content to submit to the younger vampire’s decision. Vlad took hold of the cuffs as usual, more out of habit than anything else, and they set off. On the way back from the Art department, Vlad made a snap decision and turned off into the science block, confused prisoner trailing behind him. They meandered through most of the school before Vlad eventually returned him to the training room and reluctantly locked him back into the chair. He picked up his own half-full bottle of soy blood and made his way back upstairs.

\---

Bertrand kept his eyes fixed on Vlad the whole time he was leading him through the school. The moment the door to the toilets closed behind him, the voice came back with a vengeance. _Look, I’m pretending to trust you. Really, you’re just too weak to be a threat. The moment you’re strong, though... well, I have a choice. I can lock you up, or just stake you there and then. I don’t know when you’re going to come back out, though, you could surprise me. If you smash the door open hard enough I’ll be dust before anyone even realises you’ve escaped-_ He had washed his hands quickly and rushed back outside, still hissing at the feeling of the water on his sore wrists, before the voice could keep talking. If he could see Vlad, he could dismiss the voice as a figment of his imagination. He could keep control.

The boy took him back by the scenic route – and compared to the training room, the winding corridors of Garside really did seem interesting and pleasant. He wasn’t sure what had prompted this change in the routine they’d established, but he certainly wasn’t complaining about it. It wasn’t until Vlad left him that the voice raised itself again.

_I’m training you now, Bertrand, isn’t that ironic? Like a dog. You behaved yourself on our walk, and you got a treat – a longer walk. What, did you think I was being considerate? I don’t consider you. You’re nothing to me but a diversion, a way to assert my authority. You’re just my little revenge project, Bertrand._

The disgraced vampire hung his head, and his eye was caught by the empty bottle of soy blood at his feet. Vlad had picked it up for him. He’d knelt in front of him and stopped the bottle that was all he had from rolling away. He’d been drinking himself, at the time; had that been deliberate, that sharing of a meal? What was that supposed to mean? _It means my mind games are working, Bertrand,_ the voice whispered, but he ignored it. Vlad had listened, when he had told him not to untie him. Vlad had weighed the consequences and untied him anyway. He had trusted him. _Why did you do it? I trusted you._ Perhaps he would listen to him, when the time came to explain himself. To apologise. The voice laughed, but Bertrand ignored it and waited for the real Vlad to return.

\---  
Vlad finished his soy while reading through the reports from the Slayer’s Guild. It seemed that the truce was holding, for now, despite the outlying groups who refused to fall in line. Erin and Jonno had indeed been dispatched to Kent – about as far from Garside as she could get without leaving the country, he thought to himself bitterly – and violence on both sides was indeed down.

Vlad stared at the figures in the report again. Slayings down 80%. How had nobody told him the slayers were so active? They had, of course. Bertrand had, and when he had been ignored he had taken matters into his own hands. That didn’t mean he was right, and it didn’t mean he should get away with it, but the thought that he had helped to prompt his former valet’s betrayal made him feel even worse about the barbaric punishment the Count was insisting on.  
  
Still, he shouldn’t have kidnapped Erin – Erin, who had disappeared with barely a goodbye the moment the Van Helsings had offered her a place to stay – and he certainly couldn’t be forgiven for wanting to kill her. He wondered what had set his prisoner muttering earlier. _I thought I needed it all,_ he remembered hearing, _the room smelt so strongly of blood..._ Of course, they had mopped up fast after Erin had tried using the bagged blood to open the Book, but Bertrand must have smelt it. Bertrand had an uncanny knack of knowing where there had been blood, after all. In his mind, it must have been inevitable that Erin would have to die to reveal the secrets of the Praedictum Impaver, and there was no love lost between the two, nothing to prevent him from going through with it.

 _She can’t be here, you mustn’t bring her... But I need... No!_ Bertrand was hungry when he said it, his eyes had been black with it. He’d been talking about blood. Yet he was also still talking about Erin, Vlad was sure of it. He seemed to think that someone was going to bring her to him, and he didn’t want that. Why wouldn’t he want her there? Because she would stake him? _He’d never forgive me._ Bertrand had turned down what he obviously thought was a real offer of blood, living blood, just because Vlad would never forgive him for drinking it? Yet he had betrayed him not even a month ago. The Chosen One didn’t understand it.

\---  
He was shivering again. He didn’t dare let himself sink into the uncomfortable sleep he was becoming used to snatching in the chair, for fear that the voice would get into his dreams. He kept his eyes on the bottle – _I only drank with you to mess with your head_ – and tried to ignore the thoughts that were plaguing him. He could feel nausea rising within him again, and it seemed the soy blood hadn’t stopped his body’s craving for the real thing. He’d known that, of course, but the certain knowledge that he was about to start vomiting ash was hardly pleasant. _You see? I didn’t save you from this, did I?_ Bertrand snarled at the voice, and doubled over – or he would have, but the lead wrapped around his arm had managed to hook onto the back of the chair once again. All he could do was turn his head to the side and wait helplessly for the wave of ash to stop.

An hour later, he lifted his head and froze. How long had Vlad been standing there, just watching with an expression of the utmost revulsion on his face?   
“Vlad?” His captor scowled.   
“Don’t you dare use my name, traitor.” Bertrand ducked his head in submission and found himself coughing up more ash. When he glanced up again, Vlad had gone.

\---  
Vlad should have known how his father would react to being told about Bertrand’s recent confessions.   
“You can’t be thinking of forgiving him, can you? Vladdy, that’s absurd! I forbid you to tell him any such thing. In fact, I don’t trust you not to find some way of...” he shuddered dramatically, “ _comforting_ him – your prisoner! So I’m sending you away.” The Count held up a hand, forestalling Vlad’s protests. “You can go to Kent and see if the situation there’s sorted itself out, or you can go over to Transylvania for a while, wherever you like as long as it’s _away_. The school holidays start in two days, and I don’t want to see you for at least four nights. Now go and pack, it’s almost dawn.” Vlad opened his mouth to argue, but his father cut him off again. “You can’t overrule me, remember?”  
  
Vlad shoved a cloak angrily into his case, and turned at the knock on the door.   
“You wanted to see me?” He gestured for Ingrid to grab a seat on the sofa, and continued trying to wrestle the last of his possessions into the suitcase.   
“I need you to look after Bertrand while I’m gone. You can go into the training room, but if you mess with him I will know and you will be sorry. Are we clear?” She nodded.   
“Of course. Just feeding him, though. I’m not taking him for long walks through the school.” Vlad sighed. It was better than nothing.   
“Soy blood, from the hamper – Dad’ll pitch a fit if you take anything from the Blood Cellar. And if you could take him to the loos nearest our quarters, I’d appreciate it, even if it’s only once.”

 He glanced out of the window.   
“You’re in charge of things while I’m gone. Don’t tell Dad, just don’t let him do anything crazy. It’s almost dawn, I’ve got to fly.” Ingrid nodded again.   
“Where are you going?” He took a deep, completely futile breath before making his decision.   
“Kent.” And then he launched himself out of the window.


	2. Chapter 2

Bertrand could feel his wrists and neck burning, the lead tightening unbearably around his arm as he slumped sideways in the chair, coughing pitifully. A bitter chuckle from behind him made him look round, searching for the source of the voice. The candles were guttering again, and it took him a while to recognise Vlad’s form in the dark. He looked away, unsure of the boy’s mood after the last time he’d spoken to him. That didn’t seem to please him at all.  
“Look at me, you coward. Look at the ruler you betrayed. Do you see how strong I am now? And you’re so weak. It’s pathetic. I might need to work on my telepathy, Bertrand, but you’ve hardly been guarding your thoughts lately. You even read into the fact that I had a drink down here. You thought I _cared_. Well, I don’t care. I might never bring you blood again.” Bertrand’s eyes were closing; he was exhausted. Just a few moments’ sleep couldn’t hurt, could it?

\---  
Vlad arrived at Slayer HQ in Kent just before sunrise and was greeted by three crossbow bolts and a low-flying Erin, who had to tackle him out of the way of a UV bomb.   
“Negotiations are going well, I see.” She stood, helping him up with a sheepish expression as Jonno read the slayers behind them the riot act. His explanation that this was Vladimir Dracula, Grand High Vampire seemed to make things worse rather than better, however, and in the end the Van Helsing simply pushed them all out of the gate and locked it behind them.   
“Come inside,” Erin offered, “there’s a meeting room where we can talk.”  
  
“We’ve got our work cut out for us here,” Jonno said, not quite looking at Vlad, “They’re quite proud of being God-fearing people and... well, y’know, that type aren’t usually too fond of vampires.” Vlad shrugged; he knew.   
“I’ve been kicked out of school for a few days – don’t ask, it was Dad’s idea – so I need somewhere to stay. Is there anywhere safe or should I just press on for Romania?” Erin shook her head firmly.   
“We’ll have to find somewhere. Look, it’s dawn.” Jonno sighed heavily.   
“I suppose you can bunk in with me – we don’t have any coffins, but one of the guys got a new drum kit the other day so I can get you a box...” Vlad assured him that he would be just fine on the floor, and the three of them headed upstairs to his room to catch up on the news.

\---  
Bertrand woke to find that Ingrid had already moved his hands in front of him and recuffed him. She’d also, he noticed, tied his lead firmly to the chair, and was holding a bottle of soy blood out.   
“I didn’t want to feed you myself, that’s the only reason I took the cuffs off. Here.” He clutched at it greedily as she relit a couple of candles and took in the state of the room. “You’ve seen better nights. Drink up, I don’t have all day.” It was a matter of mere moments before he handed her the empty bottle, and she cuffed him back onto the chair. “Sweet dreams,” she said, and she was gone. He looked around, bewildered. Why was Ingrid feeding him? Where was Vlad?

“I told you,” said his captor from a dark corner of the room, “I’m not bringing you blood again.” Bertrand blinked, and then Vlad was gone too.

\---  
By midday, Vlad had been brought up to speed on the progress of negotiations with the slayers of Canterbury, which hadn’t really been coming along as well as the Van Helsings had originally hoped. The slayers were, understandably he supposed, wary of letting vampires go unchallenged in their area of operation. Vlad offered to speak to them before he left for Romania, and his breather allies agreed. He was probably imagining it, but he could have sworn that Erin looked almost relieved at the mention of him continuing his journey.  
  
He slept all afternoon, safe in the knowledge that Erin was posted just outside the door. When he came out in the evening, he found her deep in discussion with Jonno. She smiled brightly as she noticed him.   
“Ready?” He nodded and they led the way down to the meeting room, where a heated debate abruptly fell silent as he entered. There was a pregnant pause before one of the slayers began shouting again, addressing his words to Jonno.   
“Look, they turn defenceless teenagers! They’re barbaric!”

Vlad had planned to be peaceful and diplomatic, but he had also hoped to be heard out with respect. Since that didn’t appear to be the case, he decided to go with a different tactic. Eyes black, fangs showing and with an echo of power in his voice, he easily drowned out the noises of agreement from the other slayers.   
“I was not _turned_. I was born Vladimir Dracula the fourth, and I have never killed a br- human.” He grimaced and shot an apologetic look in Jonno’s direction. “At least, not on purpose. Morally speaking I would say that puts me above most of you. Now, let me explain why this truce is in the best interests of us all.”

The slayers were far from convinced by the end of his speech, but some of them had nodded at certain points as he made them and he would settle for that.   
“Good luck making them see sense,” he muttered as he hugged Erin goodbye and, turning into a bat in front of a room full of Slayers, took off towards Romania.

\---  
Bertrand barely noticed Ingrid’s next visit, which went on almost exactly as the one before had. The moment she was gone, Vlad strolled back out of the shadows, coming closer this time. He reached a hand out and trailed it threateningly through the air in front of the raw skin around the older vampire’s throat.   
“You don’t like the collar much, do you? It rubs too much.” Bertrand shook his head, hoping that his captor was in a benevolent mood. He was to be disappointed. “Perhaps I should sort that out for you. The logical way would be to tighten it.” Bertrand recoiled slightly despite himself. He might not need to breathe, but if the collar got any tighter, the pain would be constant and immense.  
  
Vlad chuckled at his reaction.   
“Hmm, maybe later. I wouldn’t want to decapitate you before the fun’s even started. Catch you later.” He left Bertrand shivering more violently than ever, still in desperate need of real blood but no longer capable of even bringing up ash. All things considered, the prisoner wondered if decapitation could really be a worse fate than whatever the Chosen One’s last words referred to.

\---  
Vlad had arrived at the castle of one of his old childhood friends just before sunrise, to find a skeleton staff and no sign of its official occupants. The staff had assured him that they would arrive in just three nights’ time, and that he was welcome to stay and wait to see them. He could hardly go back outside, with the sun on its way, and he couldn’t abuse their hospitality by leaving before his hosts arrived. He therefore accepted the offer of a coffin for the week, trying not to think about the situation he’d left behind at Garside.

At least Bertrand was being fed, he reasoned, and wouldn’t be in the state he had previously found him in again when he returned. He could only assume that Ingrid was doing her part; she seemed to have tired of her interest in tormenting their prisoner since she’d been given some actual responsibilities in Vlad’s administration. It still unnerved him that he had power over all of vampire kind, but the truce being implemented even at that moment was proof of that. It was probably the reason he was being offered the use of this castle despite the absence of its owners – of course, they wouldn’t have thrown him out into the sunset before all of this had happened to him, but they probably wouldn’t have offered him a week’s lodgings.

Still, he mused as he settled into his coffin, he could attempt to make his excuses and head straight home the moment he’d paid his respects to the family. He had to get back home as soon as possible.

\---  
Bertrand spent two nights ignoring Ingrid as she fed him and even once, reluctantly, dragged him to the nearest toilets on the lead, giving him a chance to freshen up a bit before taking him straight back to his chair. How strange, he realised, to become possessive of the chair he was trapped in. Still, if the chair was all he had then he would claim it for his own all he wanted. Vlad mocked him for it, but he even clung to the cuffs as the worst of the withdrawal symptoms wracked his body. He just needed something solid to hold on to, to remind himself that he and this entire awful situation were real, and Ingrid always took the bottles with her; he only had the last one Vlad had left him and that was just slightly out of reach.  
  
Vlad himself had taken to prowling silently around the room, occasionally leaning in to hiss menacingly right behind Bertrand’s ear, or taunt him as he retched and spat ash to the floor. After three days of this, he snapped hoarsely at Ingrid.   
“Why doesn’t he come when you’re here?” She frowned, suspicious.   
“Why doesn’t who come?” He blinked at her, confused.   
“V- your brother. Why does he leave when you bring me blood?” Now she definitely looked surprised.   
“Vlad’s been away for _days_. Why did you think I was doing this?” She left quickly after that.

The Chosen One stepped out of the shadows once more as the door closed behind her, a dark smirk playing across his features.   
“Well, isn’t that interesting? Either you’re losing it... or she’s lying. Which could it be?” His lips stopped moving, but the voice in Bertrand’s head continued. _Which scares you most?_ They had their answer there and then; Bertrand needed Vlad to be real, needed him to have always been real, because if he couldn’t tell the real Chosen One from the voice – and now, apparently, face – in his head, he was lost.  
  
He feared he already knew that Ingrid had been telling the truth as a new wave of nausea began to break.

\---  
Vlad had spent two nights revisiting old haunts from his childhood, and he was already bored of Transylvania. He’d now been away for nearly long enough to appease his father, and should have been thinking about heading home to make sure things were alright. However, he couldn’t breach etiquette so brazenly, especially now that he was so close to being the Grand High Vampire for real, and he didn’t want his hosts to think him ungrateful.  
  
On another level, though, he had to admit that it was nice to be away from all the stress involved in keeping his family busy – too busy to start plotting a takeover - and looking after Bertrand. He wasn’t even really sure that what he did for the older vampire qualified as ‘looking after’ him; after all, he was keeping him shackled to a chair in the room he used to call home. Vlad wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the shroud he’d found in the corner meant that Bertrand had slept in the training room. On the other hand, perhaps he _was_ an idiot for not considering his tutor’s lack of a coffin room before the Sethius situation developed.  
  
He only needed to stay for a few more days, he reasoned, and he couldn’t be blamed for neglecting his prison-warden duties if it was to keep his subjects – strange though it was to think of his old friends that way – happy. He would spend some time checking on the political situation here in Romania, perhaps chat to a few Transylvanian ministers and council members if he could work out how to do that without appearing to show favouritism. When his hosts arrived he would stay for as short a time as he could before going home. That was completely acceptable, he was sure. In the meantime, he would simply have to try to put Garside and its captive out of his mind.

\---  
While Vlad was trying to forget about Bertrand in Transylvania, his prisoner was no less determined to keep his former student from his mind. It was proving difficult, however, as his image stood in front of the only candle still burning in the training room.   
“You’re not real. Go away.” The hallucination – Bertrand knew that must be all he was – laughed cruelly.   
“If I’m not real, how can I go away? Surely you can just choose not to imagine me. Or maybe I am real, and Ingrid’s just messing with your head. She might even think she’s being nice. You’d like to imagine that the _real_ Vlad would never treat you like this, wouldn’t you? But you know what, I think being held prisoner by your own twisted imagination is even more pathetic.”

Vlad’s face was suddenly uncomfortably close, and Bertrand didn’t dare move, knowing that he could prove or disprove Vlad’s presence by simply leaning forwards and too afraid to take that step.   
“Now you’re imagining _this_. Why are you imagining me so close, Bertrand? Is there something you ought to tell me?” He stepped back, smirking. “Of course, the real Vlad could come back at any moment. How will you ever know for sure if I really left at all?”  
  
Another day passed, and then Ingrid came back with the soy blood.   
“What are you looking at me like that for?” Bertrand didn’t take his eyes off her as he drank, but as she pinned his hands behind the chair again he began to beg her to stay.   
“Please, don’t leave me with him...” She shot him a disparaging look and disappeared back out of the door. Vlad didn’t even bother to emerge from the shadows; his laughter rang in Bertrand’s ears all the same. _Throwing yourself at my sister now, are you?_ He appeared then, leaning over Bertrand’s shoulder.   
“The only thing you could do to be more pathetic is start talking about your _feelings_ – I can’t imagine anything more boring.”

Bertrand’s head lifted slightly, thoughts racing.   
“Honestly, I’m feeling a little trapped right now. I think... it probably... goes back to when I was much younger.” The pain of croaking out the words proved to be entirely worth it as Vlad rolled his eyes and strolled away, leaving Bertrand alone in the darkness.

\---  
The family whose castle Vlad was crashing returned promptly when they had expected to and insisted that he stay for a few days. They tried to avoid bringing up politics, although there was a slightly tense moment as they all sat down for dinner on the first night of their return. The family’s heir, the boy Vlad had grown up hanging out with when they had to go to boring vampire parties, had made an enormous show of pointing out that the blood they were drinking had been bottled in the 19th century and, in case Vlad had thought he was simply proud of the vintage, had added “so it’s not breaching anything” before his father had shot him a look that could kill. Vlad was glad that he’d brought his own soy, and more glad that he’d discreetly asked one of the staff to serve it to him so that it wasn’t obvious that he was snubbing the real stuff. The last thing he needed was to be seen as judgemental.

As dusk fell on the night he’d decided to actually leave, Vlad couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be returning to. Bertrand had seemed to be recovering when he’d last seen him, but he didn’t know what state his absence had left the prisoner in. Had Ingrid been doing as she’d promised? He said his farewells to his hosts, and made a snap decision. He should really stop off in Canterbury again on his way back, just to see if Jonno and Erin had made any progress.

\---  
Vlad had – according to Ingrid – been gone for over a week now, and Bertrand was beginning to feel a little less... well, ashy. He could even keep the hallucinations at bay to some extent, as long as he kept dredging the depths of his psyche for insecurities. He’d run out of falsehoods and half-truths the day before but so far, he had managed to keep everything he said harmless – nothing that could be used against him by the image of Vlad had passed his lips. The briefest mention of his feelings about anything was enough to send the mirage back into the shadows and halt the mocking voice in the prisoner’s head.

Bertrand sat in the silence, surrounded by darkness and piles of ash, shackled to a chair and collared like a dog, and tried to think of new things to say to keep what little control he now had over his environment.

\---  
This time, as Vlad landed just before dawn, he was greeted only by a stony silence. The slayers didn’t seem particularly pleased to see him, but that was hardly surprising, and the crossbows were conspicuously absent. Erin beamed at him and ushered him inside to talk about their progress. The slayers of Kent had finally agreed to the truce, and he could see from the suitcase lying open on her bed that she was already preparing to move on.  
  
“So, does this mean you’ll be coming back to Garside, then?” He tried not to sound too hopeful – or, as he remembered what was going on at Garside and imagined her reaction to it, too worried – and wasn’t sure quite how to feel as she shook her head.   
“No, we’re going across to Cornwall to check on the situation there. It should be fairly easy going, though, they seem to be complying. It’ll be a nice break after all this. I might even get a tan.”

Her smile faded as she registered the slightly hurt look on his face.   
“Sorry, I know you can’t... Anyway, feel free to sleep in the meeting room we chatted in the first time you were here – here’s the key so you can sleep easy – and I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He took it, thanking her, then hesitated for a moment.   
“Jonno’s going with you?” She nodded. He was almost certain that he was imagining the slightly uncomfortable look in her eyes. He smiled.   
“I’ll talk to you later, then.”

\---  
Bertrand slept fitfully for twenty-four hours, twenty-four hours in which Vlad haunted his dreams, taunting him about how he had nothing left to tell, how he couldn’t ward him off while he slept. The prisoner tried to wake himself, but now even sleep had him captive; days of blood withdrawal had rendered him exhausted. Eventually, he slipped deeper into unconsciousness and the dreams disappeared.

\---  
Vlad emerged from the meeting room only an hour before sunset, made polite small talk with Erin and Jonno, and thanked a couple of slayers for their cooperation before he realised that that really wasn’t helping. The moment the sun slipped below the horizon, he took off again, suddenly anxious to return home.

Ingrid met him at the gate.   
“I’m glad you’re back. It’s almost feeding time.” There was something in the way she said it that filled him with dread – something had unsettled his sister and that was never a good thing. He broke into a run across the courtyard and left her talking to the air.


	3. Chapter 3

Bertrand woke to find Vlad stood in front of him again, this time staring down at the ash on the floor.  
“This place is filthy,” the apparition muttered.  
“I _feel_ like I can’t help that.” The older vampire waited for the magic words to take effect, but Vlad simply sighed and remained where he was, now scrutinising his captive. Perhaps he needed to try something deeper. “I feel as if I’ve thrown away everything I had just because I couldn’t resist playing the vampire hero.” A frown appeared on Vlad’s face and he walked around behind the chair, but Bertrand could still sense him. He closed his eyes, burrowing to the bottom of his emotions.

“I feel too unworthy to be forgiven, but I still don’t want to be slain. I feel like I’ve been buried alive. I feel like I deserve it. I feel-” One of the cuffs snapped open and he felt the familiar sensation of his hands being passed in front of him and recuffed. He opened his eyes as Vlad placed a cold, open bottle in his hands and attempted to finish his sentence for him.  
“Hungry?”

He gaped at him.  
“You’re really you.” _Oh, very good,_ said a sarcastic voice at the back of his head, but he ignored it.  
“Yes, it’s me. Drink up, we’re going for a walk.”

\---  
If Vlad was appalled at the state of the training room, it was nothing compared to the horror he felt as Bertrand began to ramble on about his feelings. Bertrand didn’t have feelings, or at least he didn’t admit to them. Something was clearly very wrong with his former tutor, and he was going to find out what from Ingrid as soon as he’d sorted this mess out.

The older vampire drank quietly, but when Vlad set the bottle down in the single bare patch of floor where the other one stood and gently lifted the fangcuff chain in their signal to move, he made no attempt to stand. The Chosen One soon realised why – the lead was tangled again. No, he corrected himself, it had been _tied_ to the chair. When he loosened it, Bertrand rose obediently and allowed himself to be led to the Art corridor, stumbling once or twice on his stiff legs. Vlad risked a brief detour into the nearest classroom to grab a broom while Bertrand was in the toilets, and was back in plenty of time to escort him back to the training room.

It wasn’t until they returned and Vlad, having locked his cuffs back through the chair again, was beginning to sweep away the ash, that Bertrand spoke.  
“Why did you leave?” The Chosen One sighed.  
“I had to. I’m back now.” It was all he dared say, given that he wasn’t allowed to mention the contract. Bertrand nodded and fell silent once more. He didn’t move again until Vlad had left the room.

\---  
Bertrand sat and stared at the two empty bottles of soy blood on the floor. Vlad was back. How long had Vlad been back? What if he had never left at all? What if he’d been there through all the rambling about emotions... How much had he said, before Vlad had proved he was real? He’d embarrassed himself, he knew that much.

Now Vlad was here, though, he knew exactly what he had to do. Whether he rotted away in this dungeon he once called home, or was taken out and staked the very next day, there were things that Vlad needed to know, things he needed to explain. He hoped that his captor would return tomorrow instead of sending Ingrid.

\---  
Ingrid finished her report with a slightly worried expression, noticing the way her brother’s grip on the arm of the chair had tightened.  
“I don’t know why he was so ill exactly, but it seems to have got better. It was probably to do with his addiction, in which case he’d be over the worst of it by now, I expect. He was definitely seeing things, though.” Vlad frowned.  
“What kind of things? And what addiction?”  
  
The way Ingrid ignored his first question made Vlad certain that his tutor had been seeing _him_ , and she knew it.  
“His blood problem. You must have noticed. I’ve never seen a vampire deal with it so well, but he didn’t exactly _hide_ it. He’s hooked on the stuff, or he was. I suppose he’s gone cold turkey now.” All of this was news to Vlad. How had he not been aware of this? Suddenly Bertrand’s continued sickness, after he’d been given soy blood, made sense. It explained why he’d been so ill after just a day or two without blood, as well.  
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Ingrid shrugged apologetically.  
“I thought you knew.”  
  
Vlad stared at her, horrified as the reality of the situation began to dawn on him, as painful as the sun.  
“That... what he had to go through, it must have been torture. As if being locked up wasn’t enough-” Ingrid grimaced.  
“It wasn’t pretty. But it’s your birthday in just over a week, you can explain everything to him then. How did it go with the slayers?” He put aside his guilt for a moment to fill her in on what had happened while he’d been away.  
  
“...And I think there’s something going on between Erin and Jonno,” he finished, “but it doesn’t seem that important right now.” His sister gave him a sympathetic look that suggested she didn’t really believe him, but Vlad was surprised to realise that among all the strains he’d been put under over the last month, his sort-of-girlfriend moving on was genuinely the least of his worries. He supposed that was something to be thankful for.

\---  
Bertrand looked up as his gaoler entered the room the next night, taking the soy blood he was offered as soon as his arms were re-cuffed in front of him, but not drinking. Vlad had also brought a bottle for himself and was busy opening it.  
“Vlad.” He only hoped it had been the hallucination who’d barred him from using the name. He was fortunate. The Chosen One merely lowered the bottle he’d just raised to his lips and waited for the older vampire to continue.

“What happened. With the Book, and Erin. I...” He closed his eyes; this could anger the boy – he could see it as a trick or some ploy to gain mercy, he almost certainly wouldn’t believe in his sincerity – but he had to finish now that he’d started. “I’m sorry. What I did was wrong and I deserve everything that’s happened since then. I betrayed your trust, and I was never worthy of being your tutor.” He’d spent hours perfecting his words, but now that they were spoken they sounded clumsy to his ears, and rather than waiting for a response he found himself draining his soy blood. Vlad appeared to be doing the same, and then there was an awkward pause before Vlad stood, locked the cuffs back into place behind the chair, and was gone without a word.

\---  
Vlad stormed along the corridors, furious with himself and, mostly, with his father. He had forbidden him to forgive Bertrand and the apparent rejection could hardly help his prisoner’s sanity. He needed to find Ingrid and let off some anger about it, but she was nowhere to be found and any attempt to have it out with his father could only lead to further sanctions. He locked himself in his coffin and lay in the dark, fuming.

Ingrid returned the next night, moments after dusk, with a letter addressed to him. She swapped it for the bottle of soy he was about to take down for Bertrand and was gone before he could protest. Sitting on the sofa in his room, Vlad unfolded the piece of paper, covered in Erin’s handwriting.

 _Dear Vlad,_  
 _I’m really sorry to do this, but I need to leave for Cornwall soon and there’s no time for me to come and talk to you about it in person. There might have been, but Ingrid’s visit stirred up a few old doubts in the minds of some of the slayers here, especially when she started shouting, and we’ve had to do some damage control. It’s all been sorted out, and I’m fairly sure some of the slayers now sympathise with you more than ever. I’m writing all of this in the wrong order; I’m sorry._  
 _Ingrid helped me to see that we never really officially ended things between us, did we? I suppose that makes sense because we never really officially started things either... but you deserve to know where you stand, and... we wouldn’t have worked out, Vlad. We’re too different, we’re from different worlds and although I know if anyone can make those worlds work together it’s you, we just don’t have very much in common. Your sister didn’t go into a lot of detail, but she did say you’d been under a lot of pressure lately and confusion about this probably won’t help._  
 _I’m writing to tell you what you apparently already suspect; Jonno and I... I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but there’s something between us and I really want to see where it leads. Obviously it might be difficult with us working together and everything, but I’m hoping some time off in Cornwall will help us see things a little more clearly._  
 _I had a great time with you, Vlad, and you’ll always be special to me, but I don’t see a future for us. Please don’t be angry with me._  
 _Love,_  
 _Erin_  
  
He crumpled the note in his fist and went to hear Ingrid’s side of the story. He had to wait in her room for a few minutes before she returned from what he couldn’t help but think of as the dungeon. Apparently, only one stake had been raised and Erin was ‘making a fuss over nothing’. She did, however, admit to using some of the old Dracula menace on the girl. Just to round off the weirdness of the last few days, she gave him a hug and told him everything would be alright, but before he could ask what she’d done with his sister, he found himself being politely but firmly shown the door, and headed out to the grounds for a walk to clear his head.

\---  
Ingrid had brought his blood tonight. Bertrand kept his expression neutral until she had gone, then let out an anguished roar. He had known nothing good could come of an apology, but he hadn’t expected Vlad to start avoiding him. Vlad’s visits were all that kept him sane; he treated him like a person, even though he didn’t deserve it. Now he’d clearly offended the teenager by speaking in a way that suggested a desire for forgiveness, even though that hadn’t been what he was after at all. He knew he wasn’t worthy of being let off the hook. _Please, you were practically begging me to forgive you and let you out._ He ignored the voice; it wasn’t Vlad. It didn’t even sound like Vlad any more, not if he really paid attention. He decided not to pay attention. If he couldn’t see the Chosen One, he could at least pretend to hear him.

\---  
Vlad returned from his walk in the grounds and locked himself straight back into his coffin again. He wasn’t upset about Erin, of course he wasn’t. That would be petty and selfish, given everything else that was going on. He should be grateful, really; grateful that Ingrid cared enough to go and harass his girlfriend, or... well, he supposed she was his ex-girlfriend now; grateful that Erin respected him enough to be honest rather than stringing him along forever; grateful that he had one less thing to worry about.

Deep down, though, he knew that he _was_ upset. He was about to turn eighteen and inherit all the trials and tribulations of not only adulthood, but also his position as the Chosen One. From now on, there would be no more dodging of his duties and no more excuses. It just would have been nice, he felt, to have held on to the one good, normal, teenaged experience he had for a little while longer. He knew there was more to it than that - he cared about Erin and he’d be sorry to see her less as she continued to travel with the Van Helsings – but in the end he supposed it was better that she was happy than for neither of them to be. Jonno could offer her a life, a real life, and Vlad didn’t have one of those to spare.  
  
This would at least save him the task of explaining the situation with Bertrand. At the same time, seeing Erin had been a welcome relief from the daily struggle of dealing with his prisoner and his family, and he would miss the feeling of having someone to turn to when it all got too much. He realised that since Sethius had risen, he hadn’t actually _spoken_ to Erin about any of the issues that had been building up, but it had been nice to know that he could.

He closed his eyes as dawn broke and tried to sleep away the confusion in his mind.

\---  
The next night, Bertrand was relieved when it was Vlad who appeared bearing blood. As they both sat drinking, the teenager seemed to be struggling with something until finally the words spilt out.  
“Erin’s gone off with Jonno.” It was the first news of the outside world that Bertrand had had in a long time, and in normal circumstances he would have been hard pressed to think of anything he was less interested in hearing about. The fact that Vlad mentioned it, however, and mentioned it to him, was strange in itself under the circumstances. He paused before replying carefully.  
“I’m sorry.”

Vlad snorted mirthlessly.  
“I’d have thought you’d be pleased, you were always trying to get rid of her.” Bertrand hung his head, deciding that honesty was the best policy in this case.  
“She never deserved you. That doesn’t mean I wanted her to hurt you.” The Chosen One crossed his arms in front of himself, defensive.  
“Who says I’m hurt?”

The question hung in the air for a few moments, the answer too obvious to merit words.

\---  
Vlad sighed, standing to lead his captive to the toilets as usual. He should have known better than to try to fool Bertrand; when it came to the Chosen One, his former tutor had always been extremely observant. He hadn’t meant to tell him about Erin at all - his problems, after all, couldn’t possibly compare to Bertrand’s woes – but the words had slipped out. It had seemed better than the awkward silence that seemed to have settled between them since the other vampire’s apology.

His prisoner’s reaction had surprised him; he thought that there might have been genuine sympathy in his voice. Bertrand had never liked Erin, but he seemed genuinely sorry that she’d left the boy he’d spent so long trying to get her away from. Perhaps he was just trying to win favour from his captor, but... Vlad wanted to believe he still cared what happened to his former student.  
  
He left him in the chair and went to send Erin a reply, addressed to the care of the Slayer HQ in Cornwall.

\---  
The last week before Vlad’s birthday passed in long, dark silences for Bertrand, broken only by Vlad’s occasional visits – more silence – and one from Ingrid, who seemed to have dropped in just to let him know what the date was. She mentioned it several times, as if it should make him feel better somehow to know exactly how long he’d been trapped in the training room. The only thing Bertrand did take away from it was that it was almost Vlad’s birthday, and he made a conscious effort to keep track of the sunrises and sunsets from then on.

On the evening before his coming of age, the Chosen One seemed more energetic than usual. Bertrand forced what he hoped was a smile onto his face and raised his bottle of soy in a toast.  
“Happy birthday, for tomorrow. I don’t expect you’ll come down here.” The teenager looked surprised, but didn’t argue.  
“Thanks.” There was another awkward pause, and Bertrand wondered if he should ask about his captor’s plans to celebrate, but decided against it in case it sounded like he was trying to formulate an escape plan of his own. Escape. Now that would be a fine thing... but there was no chance of that.

Vlad seemed keen to fill the silence, though.  
“We’re actually on a nocturnal schedule for the summer, like _proper vampires_ , so we’ll be getting up in the evening. Dad’s decided we all have to be in our coffins before midnight.” He pulled a face Bertrand didn’t quite understand. His prisoner just nodded and placed his empty bottle on the floor beside the others, allowing Vlad to cuff him back to the chair. The younger vampire paused, as if there was something else he wanted to say, before he closed the door and left Bertrand sitting in the dim glow of the candles.  
  
As night turned to day, the voice began to whisper again, urgent and agitated. _Why was I acting so strangely, Bertrand? What do I know that you don’t? Maybe, just maybe, it’s because the Count has decided to reinstate the ancient tradition of staking a prisoner on the birthday of the heir. Or perhaps it’s because they’re sealing up the training-room door, so I won’t have to look at you ever again._

He tried to ignore the voice, but it kept talking. _I’ll be eighteen, master of my own destiny and the entire vampire world. And you? You’ll be left here to rot. I don’t need a tutor any more, much less a prisoner sapping my blood supply. My uses for you have completely run out. I’ve made my point to the world, and tomorrow... well, perhaps I might have one more use for you. A nice, barbaric, public execution will make a very impressive start to my reign, don’t you think?_

For the first time in weeks, Bertrand began throwing himself against the cuffs, snarling and cursing. The voice had taken a mere four hours to reduce him to the wreck he’d been at the darkest point of Vlad’s absence, when the blood cravings and the hallucinations had been at their strongest. He couldn’t go on like this anymore.

\---  
“Happy birthday, Vladdy!” The eighteen-year-old ignored his father as he passed him on his way to the training room. Once there, he unlocked the fangcuffs with a gesture of his hand and rushed to his former tutor’s side to slip them from his wrists.  
“Bertrand, you’re free, I’m so sorry-” The older vampire hissed, fangs bared, before leaving with supernatural speed.

Vlad should have expected nothing different, but it still hurt to think of the way his former tutor had recoiled as he entered the room. He’d seemed almost feral, a wild thing desperate to escape its cage. The Chosen One supposed the comparison wasn’t entirely inappropriate. Ingrid met him at the door as he trudged back towards the inevitable celebrations and presents. She gave him a sympathetic smile and a card from Erin.  
“Come on, let’s go and yell at Dad. It’ll make you feel better.”

Vladimir Dracula had never unleashed so much verbal fury on anyone as he did on the evening of his eighteenth birthday, and he hoped that he would never have cause to again. Ingrid had started out with every intention of joining him in having a good shout at the Count, but had to remove Wolfie from the room pretty early in Vlad’s rant. Their youngest sibling had been kept entirely clueless about what had been going on in the training room, and Ingrid would probably have to be quite creative in her explanations of Vlad’s outburst, but he didn’t care right now. She was more than capable of dealing with Wolfie, and he had his father to deal with.  
  
The Count looked suitably chastened, but Vlad could tell from the glint of pride in his eyes that his torrent of angry words would have no lasting effect. Suddenly, he didn’t have the energy to continue, and sank into a chair to open presents like a dutiful son. It wasn’t until almost dawn that he managed to make his excuses and slip away for a moment to himself. Lost in thought, he didn’t realise where his feet were taking him until he found himself standing at the open door to the training room. Well, he supposed, now was as good a time as any to move the chair back outside. With a little luck, Miss McCauley would never realise it had been missing at all, and he would never have to look at it again.  
  
He was just dragging the heavy chair across the courtyard, keeping an eye on the sky so he wouldn’t be caught by the rising sun, when he heard a feeble moan from somewhere nearby. He left the chair where it was and glanced around him, but nobody was in sight; the only things out of place were a broken leather collar and lead on the ground. Nobody should be out here, unless – _Bertrand. Are you alright? Where are you?_ There was no reply and he thought his telepathy skills had failed him again... but then he heard a vicious hiss from beyond the school gates, reverberating in his brain. With another anxious glance at the sky, he broke into a run.

\---  
Bertrand’s legs had given way, protesting painfully at the sudden exertion of running after a month of being left in one place, before he could even make it into town. He lay in the park outside the school, partly hidden from the road by a bush but completely exposed to the elements, and willed his useless limbs to support him again. When it became clear that they weren’t going to cooperate, he realised there was nothing left to do but close his eyes and wait for the dawn to claim him.

It was just his luck that the voice chose that moment to return. _Well, this is better than I’d hoped. I thought we’d just pull you out and stake you, but you’ve given us a_ show _, Bertrand. What better birthday present could there be? We could even hunt you, but I don’t think you’re worth the effort._

The disgraced tutor opened his eyes, trying once again to get to his feet, but the last month had taken its toll and he was just too weak. _It’s almost dawn. Ready to become ash?_ He moaned slightly as his attempts to force himself upright sent pain shooting through his body. _Oh, you can’t honestly be looking for sympathy. What do you want me to say? Do you want me to run around trying to bring you home, shouting “Bertrand. Are you alright? Where are you?”-_ Bertrand hissed angrily, scrunching his eyes shut once more. When he reopened them, Vlad’s face was looming over him, Vlad’s arms were pulling him to his feet, and somehow, he was stumbling forward, back towards the school.

He’d been recaptured, he realised, as the Chosen One manhandled him through the corridors of Garside Grange, but at least he wasn’t dust. As the pain became unbearable, he allowed himself to slip back into the darkness.

\---  
Vlad had only just found Bertrand in time; the sun was already spilling into the courtyard as he dragged his former tutor back into the school through the nearest exterior door – ironically, one which brought them out in the Art corridor. He stopped for nothing as they made clumsy progress towards the Dracula quarters, but there he was forced to pause and consider his next move as Bertrand slumped against him, unconscious. He could hardly take the older vampire back to the training room – he didn’t think that would be the healthiest place to wake up, given the circumstances, and Bertrand had no other coffin room of his own. In the end, only one option made sense to Vlad, and as Ingrid appeared to ask him what was going on, he simply silenced her with a look and had her help him up the stairs with his unconscious ex-prisoner.

\---  
Bertrand woke to find that he was lying in the darkened confines of a coffin. It had been years since he had slept in one, and for a moment that was the only source of confusion that made itself known in his mind. Then he remembered the events of the last month and flung himself into a sitting position – or would have done, except that the lid of the coffin stopped him from doing so. Seconds later, it swung open and he found his former student’s face peering over the edge.

“Knew I couldn’t be the only one that did that.” He was holding out a soy blood, open and ready to drink. Bertrand frowned as he eased himself into a sitting position and took the bottle. Had it all been a dream? The last thing he remembered was Vlad unlocking the fangcuffs... no, there had been more. He had collapsed in the park... Vlad had brought him back... He looked around in surprise. The Chosen One had brought him back to his own coffin room, had let him sleep in his coffin. He scrambled to get out of it, but his muscles were still stiff and uncooperative and Vlad pushed him back before he could fall down.

“Look, Bertrand, I know you don’t want to be here right now but you’re in no fit state to leave. And it’s still just about daylight out there, anyway. Just... just have a drink, okay? I need to explain some things.” He sniffed suspiciously at the soy blood before taking a sip, propped up against the head of Vlad’s coffin, and prepared to listen.

\---  
Vlad wasn’t really sure what to say. Where did you start apologising for over a month of captivity and torture? He supposed actually apologising would be a good start.  
“I’m sorry about... everything that happened after Sethius. Believe me, it wasn’t my choice. I mean, yeah, I was angry at first, but... if I’d just seen you before I went to school, I could have avoided all of this.” He kept a wary eye on Bertrand’s reaction. The older vampire had stiffened and was listening intently.

“Dad and I... we had this contract. He couldn’t overrule me, and I couldn’t overrule him, until I was eighteen. It seemed fair... but it let him do this to you – let him make _me_ do this to you – and for that I am truly sorry. It was... supposed to be a show of power, or something, and I couldn’t ask you how to get out of it. I did everything I could, Bertrand, really I did, but I know it wasn’t enough.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before he opened them again. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness, but I wanted you to know that you have mine. Even before you apologised. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you then. And... I’ve bandaged your wrists and neck as well as I could, I thought it would be better to clean your wounds while you weren’t awake – it would have hurt otherwise...” He realised he was rambling and trailed off.

Bertrand frowned.  
“I want to forgive you, I really do. But I can’t now.” The older vampire paused, considering. “Things are different, and they might never be right again.” He took in his surroundings again with a long gaze. “I can’t stay here. Would you be willing to allow me a coffin room while I remain at the school?” Vlad nodded dumbly and went to make the arrangements.  
  
Bertrand might say that he hoped to one day put it all behind them, but Vlad had a horrible feeling that this was a mistake that would never be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
